My Angel, My Dear
by amberdowny
Summary: Crowley loves Aziraphale, and tells him as much. But Aziraphale, fearing the wrath of THEM tells him no. What happens after that, and will Crowley and Aziraphale ever be together? Slash, CrowleyAziraphale (obviously) Rating for sexual content.


Warning: Slash. Crowley/Aziraphale. No flames please.

Disclaimer: The wonderful characters belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Not to me.

A/N: Well, um...yeah. My first venture into anything other than Harry Potter…and as much as I admire the lovely footnote style thing GO has going on, I cannot in any way reproduce it, so please forgive me ahead of time. And…just because it's easier for me, I am writing in Aziraphale's first person POV.

We had gotten together one night for dinner. It was a fairly small diner, one of my favorites. Crowley had, for some reason unknown to me, let me choose where we would eat. And actually, we didn't really need to. But there you have it. Crowley likes these human things far too much. Sleep and the like. Actually, I like _Crowley_ far too much. But then, it's not really _like_ is it, more…mutual existence. After all, we had both been around since The Beginning.

Anyway, we had gotten together for dinner. We placed our orders, and Crowley began to play a game he enjoyed, that I was hesitant about playing, because my people would not be pleased.

"Historical events," he said lazily.

I sighed. "I shouldn't tell you this."

"You do though, angel, every time."

I sighed again. "Yes. I suppose it's just one of those things."

"Ineffable?"

"Sort of, I suppose."

"We're off topic."

I sigh yet again, the third time in less minutes. I named three random events. Crowley named four. He always does that, names one more event or person than I. I think it's because he wants to prove to me that he too is honorable, Fallen or not.

"Why do you enjoy that stupid game so much?" I ask, as the waitress refills our glasses with wine.

He shrugs, glancing at me through his sunglasses. "I just like to know what you're up to, angel."

"Reports for Them?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.

"No."

"Oh." I sip at my wine. I glance at the table across from us. A man seems to be staring suspiciously at his soup. "My dear," I say disapprovingly. Crowley sighs and the man looks even more suspiciously at his soup, then takes a spoonful.

The waitress comes back and serves us our own soup. Crowley adds salt to his, and stir mine around, waiting for it to cool, though I could do what Crowley has done, and cool it myself.

"So, Aziraphale, how is the wild bookshop life going?" he asks, taking the first spoonful of soup. I watch him, admittedly working a bit harder than I should have at being sexless. It has nothing to do with him, of course. I am forgetting to breathe.

"That good, eh?" he asks, raising a single eyebrow.

I inhale and exhale sharply, to prove a point. "Actually," I said, annoyed, "People keep trying to buy the books."

Crowley makes a derisive noise. "Imagine that, people coming into a _bookshop_ to buy _books_."

"Some of those are first editions, impossible to find anywhere else!" I said indignantly.

"Do you happen to have a copy of that Bible that says, "Thou shalt commit adultery?" he asks.

I don't answer, just stare moodily at my soup.

"You know, it's odd sometimes, sitting here with an angel," Crowley muses. "I mean to say--we're on opposite sides."

"It's the mutual existence," I reply, since I'd just been thinking of it earlier.

"Ah." he nods. "That explains everything."

I sigh impatiently. "We've both been around since The Beginning, and--"

"No, I really meant it. That explains everything."

I stare at Crowley for a while, contemplating him. The waitress comes around with our meals, and we eat in silence, which is odd. When we finish, we leave, and walk side by side to Crowley's Bentley.

"I'll drive you back," he says, though it's within walking distance. He pulls out of the parking space, and begins to drive up the street.

"My dear, you're going the wrong way," I note, peering over at him.

"I'm taking you back the long way. Aziraphale…"

"Yes?"

Crowley seems to be thinking over what he's about to say. "Well…we've been friends, mutual existences whatever you want to call it for awhile, right, but whatever you call it, it basically means the same thing, right. Well…what if I told you Hell wasn't very happy with me?"

"I'd hardly be surprised," I replied dryly.

"What if I told you the reason why was because I fell in love?"

There was a brief silence. Finally I managed, "You what?"

"You heard me," he replied darkly.

"Is that even possible?"

He scowled. "It's bloody well possible, angel."

More silence. Then Crowley began his stupid games again, and I humored him and played along, and when we got to my place, he stopped the car, and turned to me, and said softly, "It's you."

"What's me?" I replied cautiously.

"The…being I fell in love with."

We just stare at each other for a moment, and then he slowly leans forward, and his lips meet mine, and it's simply _amazing_, his lips are cold and warm at the same time, and it's like an explosion is taking place in my head, but I pull away, and gasp, "No, Crowley. I can't…I'm not allowed to…God knows I want to, but…I'm sorry, I can't."

He looks at me, stunned, before he says coldly, "Get out of my car."

I bow my head, and get out, and walk to my door. He drives away, tires screeching.

For once that night, I decide to try sleeping.

__

"Crowley," I gasp. "I want you."

"I aim to please," he replied, moaning.

We're both naked, lying on his bed. He is pressing into my thigh, I kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me. He asks me, gently, "Do you want this?"

"Yes," I gasp, "God, yes."

He slowly and gently presses against my opening. "This may hurt," he says to me. "If you let it." I nod, unable to speak. Gently, he presses, sliding deeper into me.

"Oh, God…Oh Crowley…yes," I moan.

He goes faster and faster, and soon--

We both come, and drift off to sleep. The last thing I hear is, "Love you, angel…"

I wake, and blush and curse at the same time. I will myself to be sexless once more. It doesn't work. I groan, and get up, and look out the window at the night.

"Damn you Crowley," I say, to no one in particular.


End file.
